The Cabby
by Dulin
Summary: REWRITE. Trowa Barton is a cab driver and the witness of a long distance love ... YAOI. 1x4x1, 34 and 31


**The Cabby**  
**By Dùlin**

Title: The Cabby 

Author: Dùlin

Archive: This fic is archived here with permission. Do not take or reproduce anywhere without express permission from the author.

Disclaimer : I only own the idea of a cab, not the cab itself. Certainly not the cab driver, no matter how much I want it.

Category: AU, musings, romance, tidbits of angst, sap

Rating: PG

Warnings: POV, thoughts and musings about some urban long-distance romance, Trowa playin' matchmaker just a lil' bit (or more exactly matchkeeper), a rather contemplative piece and my first try at something that vaguely resembles poetic prose. Probably sappy too. I'm so gonna (get smacked runs away from L-sama)

Pairings : 1x4x1, 3/4, 3/1,strongly evoked 2/3/2, hints of 2x3x2  
x/x stands for the standard 'plus' sign that doesn't seem to want to appear here

Surprise het couple in the middle, you guys should figure it out.

Spoilers: squat.

Thanks : Shattered Dreams, Forsaken, Muffie, Shannling, karina, Amejisuto, Misty Yuy, Warp, Laurence-sama, Lisou-chan

A/N : I swear, honest to God, that I don't know where this came from. I am still working on Zero Four and the Vignettes. But last Wednesday, I was in a lexicology practical at college, and it started raining, and the sudden idea of Trowa as a cab driver hit me on the head. Quite insistently. I first thought it would give me another bunny to write after everything else I already got, but said bunny absolutely refused to leave me alone, and I had to get the story out so that I could go back to my other works in peace. Inspiration is a bitch sometimes. But anyway, this is finally out of my system, and people who've been reading me for a while will probably find this a bit different from my usual style. I haven't decided yet if I like it or not, but in spite of the frequent crisis of lyricism I endured while writing it, it met L-sama's approval, somehow.

0.0.0.0.0

The first time he got into my cab, it was almost by chance. From the very few words he said on that first ride, I gathered that he usually had a private car waiting for him, but the reason for its sudden absence was never explained. Not that I mind. My life became increasingly interesting from that moment on.

I don't know if there is a higher reason behind the fact that I became a cab driver. In the beginning, I started it because I needed the money to pay for college. My sister and I are orphans, and state benefits just don't cut it when you want to go to university, and don't even mention student loans. I just think that I gradually lost interest in my studies, some obscure philosophical things that I had found fascinating in my teenage years. We all do weird stuff when we are young. My best friend Duo swore he would never cut his hair again when we turned 10. It is a good illustration of his perseverance that he now has a long braid dangling down his back that reaches his ass while I am driving my cab around the city full-time.

That did not mean that I had abandoned studies altogether, just that the object of my studies had shifted. I now thought it was pointless to try and find out about human nature in books and centuries-old doctrines. It was much more logical to look at people.

Duo says I have a gift. He says that I don't just look at people, but see them. That I don't just hear their voice but listen to their words. Maybe it comes from having been raised among loads of cats, but I am observant. The truth is that although I am quite tall and have been tagged handsome by the people who stopped long enough to have a good look at me (and 'pretty' by Duo, but he was drunk), I'm not one to drag attention to myself. I prefer staying in the background, watching and listening, trying to understand the strange mechanisms of humankind almost as if I were an outside observer.

Being a cab driver is a perfect opportunity. You see all sorts of people in a cab. And most of them just need to pour their hearts out. Talking to the cabby is less expensive than going to see a shrink, and I don't mind. I am even strangely honored that these strangers would willingly share a bit of their lives with me. I don't have to prompt people to talk, and they don't need me to answer (unless they're tourists, which are probably the most annoying of the lot because they ask questions that require me to answer).

0.0.0.0.0

I work the airport area mostly on weekends. Our city is big enough to have an international terminal, which means each Friday brings its lot of people who work out of the city and come back home, or people from out of town coming to visit relatives, or tourists who tip well (I don't forget that I began driving people around for the money). Also, the company that employs me is kind of upscale, and I have a reputation. Which means I get the good spot right in front of the doors of the terminal, and no one has ever challenged me on that.

It was raining on that particular Friday. I was glad, because I like rain. People seem more real when they are drenched than when they are dry, somehow, if that makes any sense.

He was standing just outside the door, a neat suitcase that probably cost more than everything I was wearing at his feet, and looking around. His very light blond hair caught my eye first, it was like a ray of sunshine that had found a way to escape the gray clouds and had come down here to give us a bit of light, a bit of warmth. He was dressed up in a dark blue Armani suit. I have seen so much businessmen on my back seat that I know designers just from the cut of the clothes. It suited him well, making his eyes, which were neither really blue, nor really green, stand out. It made him look quite young too, although he was probably close to mid-twenties, just like me.

I was one of the few people who hadn't gotten a client yet. It was an average Friday night, I wasn't on call, just sitting there waiting for people needing a ride and having enough money to afford it in my cab (which happened to be an elegant white Mercedes with tinted windows ; I did say my company was upscale, right ? Make that very upscale).

The blonde seemed to lose patience quickly. He was checking his watch every two minutes. He eventually took out a cell phone, hit a speed dial button, and waited for someone to answer, tapping on the phone impatiently and looking at the cab offer around. His eyes stopped on my car just as he began talking.

His conversation didn't last long, and I found him nearing my cab soon enough. I opened the passenger window when he stopped near it and shot him a questioning glance.

"Can you take me to Emerson Square ?", he asked in a soft, musical voice.

"Sure", I answered.

I got out of the car to put his luggage in the trunk, then opened the door for him, smiling a bit when he looked surprised. My company has standards, since most clients are rich enough to buy the cars if they want to, and certainly don't _need_ to ride in cabs if they don't want to.

As I said, that first ride was mostly silent. It was something new for me. I was used to people blabbering away and talking my ears off, but he didn't. He was looking out of the window, but not like a tourist. He seemed to know the place quite well, and he had asked for Emerson Square, which was certainly not a tourist's place. This was actually a quiet place in one of the upper-scale parts of town. There were no hotels down there, which meant he knew someone living near the square, or on it.

I spent about half of the ride looking at him in the rearview mirror, and finding that unusual silence strangely comfortable. When we arrived, he made me stop at a corner, paid me and added a quite healthy tip. I helped him to get his suitcase out, and he disappeared in a nearby street, not hesitating once in the directions he took. I was left to wonder about my own fascination for this new and quite distracting client.

It was a surprise to find myself back at the same corner on Sunday night, this time on request. It was him again. I later learnt that he had called the company and requested me quite expressively, even going to the extent to have memorized my license number to be sure no one else would show up. We just played the same show in reverse, me putting the suitcase back in the trunk and opening the door for him, then taking him back to the airport, to the precise spot where he had gotten into the car two days before. He tipped me generously again, and left after saying a courteous thank you. I was sure I was never going to see him again. I didn't know how wrong I was, and how important a part I was going to play in his life in the following months.

0.0.0.0.0

The next Friday, he was there again, in the exact same spot. He did not seem to wait impatiently, but from afar, I was almost sure I saw him turn down another cabby who was ready to take him. When my cab arrived close enough, I saw him smile, and he even waved a bit. I stopped in front of him without thinking, getting out to take his suitcase, and ignoring the calls of other cabbies who were wondering a) who the gorgeous and obviously rich guy was, and b) how come Barton was just ready to drop anything to drive him anywhere.

I didn't think too much about it at first. It began to be a bit more suspicious when I got called again to bring him back to the airport on that Sunday night yet again. But even then, I just thought he appreciated the ride and liked personalized service, and that was the extent of it. It's only after the third week that I noticed the pattern.

He never called the company to have me pick him up on Friday nights. He would just stand in the spot where I had first seen him with his suitcase and his elegant suit, and I would stop just in front of him, help him get his suitcase in the trunk and open the door for him, then I would drive him directly to Emerson Square, without him having to tell me where he wanted to go. If I happened to be gone on a ride when his plane landed, he would wait for me to arrive and turn down the other cabbies until I did. For the Sunday nights, he would call the company and I would find myself at the corner of Emerson Square at 7 PM to pick him up again, and drive him back to the terminal. It became a weekend routine that I was strangely looking forward to.

0.0.0.0.0

I am quite sure I know now why he fascinated me so much, right from the start. Most of the clients I got were transparent. They poured their life out to me without even really seeing me, it could have been anyone listening, really. I think most of them just needed to hear themselves talk, say the words that no one else but an unknown and anonymous cab driver could hear.

He wasn't transparent. He just looked like it. He was beautiful, and I could admit that shamelessly. Duo is absolutely gorgeous, but this young man was a work of art. I don't think I had ever seen so white a skin, or such hair. His eyes were always hesitating between green and blue, taking the same weird color as the sea on a sunny day, and changing with his moods. Sometimes, if I was careful, I could catch little glimpses of who was really behind what was nothing more than a perfectly crafted mask. I know about that, having worn quite a lot of them myself. Probably still wearing them.

He never volunteered information about himself, or at least not willingly. I knew his plane landed at the airport every Friday around 6:30 PM. Since the timing was always so precise, I deduced that he was probably not riding on a private jet, and the only regular planes that landed at that time were the liaison from Chicago and the Concorde from Paris. If I had had to bet, I would have put my dice on the Concorde. In the same way, Emerson Square was a corner of town where people earning less than a hundred thousand dollars a year were considered poor. It was the fashionable place for filthy rich computer geeks, CEOs, super models, and town officials. All of that, plus the neat suits, talked about money, and not just a little.

I saw all of these, he didn't tell me anything. He never talked very much after he got into the cab. Sometimes, he would comment on the weather, in a soft voice. Sometimes, he would just drop something about stock exchange or how nice the cherry trees in the street looked, out of the blue. I never answered, and he never seemed to mind. When I looked at him in the rearview mirror, I would often catch him staring into it directly at me, and our eyes kept meeting in the polished glass. Most of the times, when it happened, he would smile, a beautiful smile that was unbelievably sad and yet would lighten his whole face. And once I would stop the car, he would pay and thank me , and leave. Never on these rides did he ask me to come back on Sunday night. Every time, he would call the company and request me. After a few weeks, I am quite sure that even if he hadn't, I would have found myself on Emerson Square waiting for him to appear out of that street he always disappeared into, because it just felt like the place where I should be, on Sunday nights, at 7 PM.

This is how the weirdest friendship of my life began. I knew he wouldn't say anything about himself, he knew I was not going to pry. I don't know how this absolutely bizarre association somehow turned into trust at one point. I just know that I am glad I was there that first Friday night, and that he decided to climb in my car.

0.0.0.0.0

It took me some time before I trusted myself enough to talk about him to Duo. He and I have a habit to discuss my regulars. Our favorites are a Chinese couple. They are the cutest things you could find, mostly because they spend all their time in my car arguing passionately about something I have no idea about since they talk in Chinese, and once we reach their destination, he pays, helps her get out of the car, she puts her arm around his waist and her head on his shoulder and off they go like they don't have a worry in the world. They are surprisingly refreshing, and I am always looking forward to transporting them. Just hearing the slightly singing voices from the back, and knowing that whatever they're saying doesn't really matter, and all that matters is that they love each other so much, is enough to not make me lose faith in mankind. After them, I can even be civil to tourists for a couple of hours.

I never said I wasn't sappy. My sappiness just chooses strange ways to express itself. You can find me naive if you want, but love remains one of the thing that awes me, truly. Especially in my life. There are some things I can't really believe even now. Like Duo.

I share an incredible amount of things with Duo, and he's probably the only person I ever shared myself with, fully. But that thing with my mysterious customer … I wanted to find out more first. I knew he was from out of town, and there were chances that he took the Concorde twice a week just to come to an upscale part of a medium town in Northern America. I had noticed quite early on that English was probably not his mother tongue. He was speaking it just that little bit too well, with a cultured accent that spoke of expensive boarding schools and private tutors. But I couldn't place his origins. His hair and skin tone almost screamed Scandinavian, but it just felt wrong, I had no idea why.

I wondered what his story was. Who he came to see. I didn't think he was married, he wasn't wearing a ring, but it didn't mean anything nowadays anyway. It was just that if he was married, escaping on weekends to meet a lover would be kind of defeating the purpose. Not to mention said lover should really have been worth it if he spent that much money just to see him or her. I doubted he came here for business, even if his suitcase had a laptop compartment that was always filled by the weight of a computer. Weekend after weekend, I watched him as he rode with me in silence, or with just a few words, and I wondered. About the person who had apparently captured his heart.

I could almost read his eagerness, when we would near Emerson square. He wouldn't say anything, but being quite good at that myself, I can read body language even more easily than words. His whole body would shiver a bit with anticipation, and his eyes would lighten up just a bit more. His step was almost bouncy when he disappeared in that little street, always the same. The atmosphere was a bit different on Sunday nights, tinted with a sorrow so sweet it more than once choked me. Not that I said anything. But I could tell that whoever it was he was visiting, it was tearing him apart to have only those few precious hours to give them before he would have to leave again.

If only I had known what I had gotten myself into …

I would have done exactly the same.

0.0.0.0.0

I eventually decided to tell about him to Duo, after he wondered why I had declined to go out on a Friday night for the seventh time in a row. The truth was I didn't feel up to doing anything that resembled clubbing or eating out, even with Duo, after the mysterious stranger had been in my car.

"Okay, who's the guy ?", Duo confronted me.

It was not aggressive, he just knew me too well. He knew that watching, wondering, imagining were parts of me I could not let go of, and he took and embraced it all. He never even made the mistake to get jealous of the little slices of life I shared with complete strangers, because he understood me in some ways that even I couldn't fathom. He just always knew what to say or not to say, how to cheer me up. I know now that I could not conceive my life without him, because he's one of the few persons who never asked me to be anyone but myself. He loves to be in the light and to laugh about life, love, about everything, but I'm just as content standing half in the shadows and watching him and everyone else, but him above all. And when he's there in the light, he will always turn back to me and send me that look that tells me he knows, and he cares, and he will always be there. And that's enough.

"Is it a new one ?"

I nodded, and he smiled, that little knowing smile.

"So what's the deal with him ?"

"I don't know", I answered honestly, and his eyes widened a bit.

"What do you mean, you don't know ? You mean you of all people couldn't scrutinize another human being to the point that he would tell you everything you would want to know about him on top of loads of things you didn't want to know ?"

"That's a pretty accurate description of the situation, Duo."

He asked some questions, and I told him everything I had seen or observed, not mentioning a name since I didn't know any. He stayed silent for a while after I was finished, then smiled again.

"The guy's in love", he said simply. "I would know, I feel like that all of the time", he added, squeezing my hand a bit.

"I know, it's just … I … something does not feel right here."

"What, Tro ?"

"Why does he feel so sad ?"

0.0.0.0.0

Things moved around the fifteenth week. Because he wasn't there when I arrived.

It is stupid to say, but I panicked. This was probably the most awful weekend I ever experienced. I kept imagining horrible things happening to that person I barely knew, but seemed to know better than anyone else anyway. I kept thinking about that person who lived near Emerson Square and who would be waiting for him. I was a wreck, and not even Duo managed to do something about it. He was at a loss for words, for once, and for once it wasn't bad that he didn't know what to say. Just him being there was enough, and yet not. Those were the strangest days of my life.

It was almost as if someone had given me oxygen as I was drowning when I drove to the airport the next Friday and found him waiting in his usual spot. I saw him smile when I got out of the car, and I only managed not to blush because I have extraordinary self-control. But I was insanely relieved to see him, and I couldn't get out of my head the freaky idea that he knew it very well, and that he was glad for it, in a way.

I remember that particular Friday vividly, because it was hailing. Blocks of ice the size of chestnuts were falling, creating an almost deafening sound in the car that would have made talk impossible, if we had been in the mood to talk, but we didn't need it. When I stopped at the corner of Emerson Square, though, he didn't get out of the car, just watching outside with a blank look on his face. I forced myself to talk above the noise.

"You're going to be pretty banged up if you walk all the way under that."

He looked surprised to hear my voice at first, then ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and smiled sheepishly.

"I guess so", he answered, forcing his voice so that I could hear.

I just waited for him to make a decision. It only took him a few seconds.

"1276 Oakland Lane", he finally said.

I nodded and started the car again. It wasn't very far into the street, but far enough that from my usual corner of the square, I wouldn't have seen which house he would get into. I stopped again in front of a neat white house that could not be termed little, however hard you tried, but that was not big by its neighbors' standards. The garden, or what I could distinguish of it under the ice storm, looked minimalist but well-kept. There was a great picture window that was illuminated, but no one seemed to be in sight.

My client sighed again, and seemed to brace himself to come out, when the door of the house suddenly opened. A young man came out on the porch. He was wearing simple jeans and a dark blue shirt that made astonishingly deep blue eyes come out. His features looked Asian, and his skin was just that dusty shade of gold that indicated one of those far countries in my mind. His hair was unruly, a dark mop of chocolate falling around his face. The blonde's face lightened up even more when he saw him, but I saw him shooting me a little frightened look at the same time, like I had just seen something I was not supposed to. I guess it made sense, in a way. I understand all about being shunned because you're homosexual, I've been through it too. It seemed to bother him that someone would know that about him, so I did the only thing I could at that point. I showed him how much I didn't care that the person he came to see was one of the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen.

"Go shelter yourself, I'll bring your luggage", I said, and stepped out of the car before he could say anything.

I protected my head the best I could as I walked to open the trunk. The sudden halt of ice balls pounding me came as a surprise, and when I looked up, it was to meet those incredibly blue eyes. The young man was by my side, holding an umbrella, his hand held out to take the suitcase. I gave it to him, and he nodded his thanks. He then walked me back to my car door, still protecting me from hail, and waited until I was safely back in before he opened the back door and welcomed the blonde under his umbrella. They did not do anything like kissing or even smiling at each other, just shot me a last look and walked back to the house.

I had a lot to think about, and I wanted to talk to Duo, so I just decided my shift was over, with the perfectly valid justification that I didn't want my car to get all banged, and drove back home.

0.0.0.0.0

"So he really has a sweetheart, then ? Looks like they don't live in the same place, from what you told me … that bites", Duo concluded.

I just nodded.

"Long distance love … I never thought I would see it work for someone", he said thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose if they make it work, and love each other that much …"

He didn't finish, but I could sense he was admiring it. I was too, I must say. I had always taken my mystery man for someone passionate and dedicated. I guess in some strange way I could understand the way he committed himself to the slender and intense young man I had glimpsed under an umbrella.

I shook my head, and wondered if I should not go see a shrink, or something. Wasn't it a bit far-fetched to feel content for them two, since I didn't know them at all ? Who was I to pretend I was all-knowing, and I could understand what they felt ? I felt just arrogant for imagining I could. And yet …

I simply couldn't help it. I couldn't help feeling that this had been why I had become a cab driver … that the blonde had always been waiting for me at the airport to take him to the young man he loved. That he would always ask me to take him away after they had to part. And I couldn't help feeling, knowing, that I was the only one here who knew about them, and who cared. The only one they could disclose their relationship without having to hide anything, because there was no need for it. It was both sad and beautiful, that same sweet sorrow that filled my car every Sunday.

0.0.0.0.0

It became my mission. Every Friday, I had to go pick up a lonely heart and bring him to the one who would accept him without questions. Every Sunday, I would have to take that heart away, with the unspoken promise that I would bring him back the next week.

They were never openly affectionate when I saw them together. I would always drive him to the door of the house now. It was like we didn't need the charade of stopping at the corner of Emerson Square. I knew, and he knew I couldn't have cared less, and in some way, it told me he trusted me. Enough to show me some part of his life probably no one else had ever seen. That part, little as it was, seemed to be so precious, so cherished, that I felt incredibly honored and humbled by his trust. We still were silent most of the time, but it was like we had come closer, sharing something else now than the metal cubicle of my car.

His lover always opened the door the moment I parked, as if he was watching out for us. But unlike that first time, with the ice storm, he would just stand there and wait for the blonde to come out and climb the few steps. Then, he would look at me and nod once, his way of saying thank you, step aside to let his lover in, and follow him inside, carefully closing the door. And once it was done, it was like all the peace in the world was around me, because they were together. On Sunday nights, the same scene seemed to repeat itself in reverse. The door would open, and the blonde would come out, carrying his suitcase. The brunette would only watch him from the door, and wait until I started the car to go back inside, apparently unable to watch it disappear in the distance.

They didn't kiss, or even hold hands. They didn't need to. The way they looked at each other, the way their bodies would lean into each other when they were close, was enough. To the trained eye, it spoke of the trust and love that was between them. It was amazing the way they would both relaxed when they shared that very first look each Friday.

Of course, I suppose it was too ideal to last.

0.0.0.0.0

I knew something was wrong from the moment I saw him waiting for me there. He was looking down, his hands shoved into his pockets and his shoulders slumped, looking defeated. I didn't know what had happened, but it didn't look good. His eyes were absent, and he didn't look at me once during the ride, just drumming impatiently on the door and keeping to himself. When his lover opened the door, I was shocked to see just how tense he looked. Of course, they probably had some contact over the week, it was stupid to think that the only moment they would talk to each other would be those weekly visits, and yet it hadn't occurred to me before. Something was definitely wrong, nothing in the mood showing the deep love and care and relief they usually expressed when seeing each other. For the first time, I was very uneasy as I left, hoping they would be alright.

Sunday changed the routine again. They both came out, but the brunette had a coat on, and he closed and locked the door before he followed the blonde down to the car. They both climbed in. I just raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, and did my job. They didn't touch, didn't even sit that close to each other, and didn't look at each other for the whole ride. The blonde was tense, his brow furrowed and his hand nervously smoothing his pants. His lover was sulking in that quiet, intense way I knew very well because I do exactly the same thing when I'm moody. They were not happy.

Not a word was exchanged as the blonde paid and they got out. I sat back in the driver's seat but didn't drive away. It wasn't suspicious, since the airport was still the place where I had the best chance of catching a client at that time. It gave me the perfect opportunity to watch them as they stopped in front of the terminal door.

I couldn't hear them, of course, but years of careful observations have taught me a few tricks. I can read lips. I followed their conversation as if I'd been by their side. And no, before you try to make me tell it, I wasn't ashamed to do it. All I wanted was for things to be all right with them.

'Heero …', the blonde began, and the brunette just hugged him on the spot, apparently surprising his lover as much as he surprised me. I would never have expected him to do that in public.

The blonde hugged him back, putting his head on the slightly taller man's shoulder and closing his eyes. Even from where I was, I could see he was trying hard not to cry.

'I'm sorry, Heero, I really am', he said. 'I just … I wish I could stay with you here, always, and forget about everything else, I wish ...'

'I know', Heero, since that was apparently his name, answered. 'I know. It's not your fault.'

'I just wish I would find the courage to stand up to him, but I don't know if I can. I'm so sorry, Heero.'

Heero caressed the blonde's cheek with a finger, his eyes full of sorrow. He swallowed once, and sighed.

'I trust you', he finally said. 'I love you. I know you will do what you think is best.'

The blonde didn't answer, he just hugged him again.

'I know you can't leave everything behind just for me', Heero added. 'I can't ask you that, just like you can't ask me to leave everything for you. We both knew it. But …'

They both fell silent, hugging each other tightly. Heero let go of the blonde reluctantly, and it was poignant to look at them part like that, that sadness in their eyes. I really wished I would know what was wrong, just to make it right again. After a final look, the blonde took his suitcase and got into the terminal. Heero just stood there and watched him go. Then he turned around and looked straight at me, and I realized he had known I had been watching all the time.

His look was challenging me, daring me, to do what, I didn't know. I simply looked back. I didn't know what he expected of me, but I just knew that whatever had happened, it wasn't fair. No one should ever have that dead, defeated look in their eyes when they have loved ones to care for.

I got out of the car, raising a questioning eyebrow. He sighed, shrugged, and came closer. I opened the back door, and he climbed in. I drove him back to his house in a thick, dead silence, that didn't resemble one bit the silence I was used to. This one spoke of pain, and despair, and it was suffocating me. When he fished his wallet out as we arrived, I stopped him.

"This one's on me", I said.

He glared at me.

"I don't need pity", he snapped, and it was the first time I heard his voice, a deep, rich voice, with a slight singsong accent that was a bit like the one of my Chinese couple, but different. "I don't want pity", he added a bit lower, looking down.

"I know", I just said.

He looked up at me, and it seemed an eternity before he finally opened the door of the car and went out. This time, he stayed on the porch and watched me as I drove away.

The next Friday, the blonde wasn't there waiting when I parked at the airport.

0.0.0.0.0

For three weeks, I came back, but he didn't reappear. I didn't really know what to do. I guess that whatever problem he and Heero had, it was between them, and I shouldn't interfere. At least, that was what Duo thought. But I simply couldn't stand things staying that way. For months now, I had been the witness of what was probably the purest expression of love I had ever seen in two human beings. I had seen the suffering they both held at hiding that love, probably from their own family and friends. I had been trusted enough, by both of them, to watch and act as the one who would bring them together, every week. It just didn't seem right that it should end that way.

I gave up going to the airport on the fourth week, and simply didn't go to work. I felt too depressed to drive other people around instead of the blonde. I think maybe it was fate, because if I had been away, I would never have gotten that phone call.

Duo picked up when the phone rang, and I heard him exchange a few sentences that didn't make much sense with whoever was on the line.

"Yes … No, I'm not … Yes, he's here, who's asking ? … What do you mean, 'it's not important' ? … I … yeah, sure, I'll get him. Tro ! It's for you !"

He appeared in the bedroom doorway and threw the receiver to me before going away, grumbling about my 'rude friends who should learn to sweet talk the boyfriend if they really wanted to speak with Tro'.

"Hello ?"

"_Trowa Barton ?_", Heero's voice said over the phone.

I sat up abruptly on my bed, almost fearing what would come next.

"Yes. How did you get my home number ?"

He hesitated, and I was left to guess that he had looked me up somewhere.

"_I … Maybe I shouldn't have called …_", he started.

"Are you at home ?", I cut in.

"_Yes_", he answered, surprised. "_Why ?_"

"Pack some stuff, I'm picking you up in fifteen minutes."

And I hung up. This was stupid of course. I really don't know what I had in mind, but I knew, deep in my guts, that those two belonged together. I put a sweater on, took my keys and was about to get out when Duo stopped me. He took my face in both hands and looked right in my eyes.

"You're going to go kick his ass and put him in a plane, right ?", he said.

I nodded. He gave me a smile, and kissed the tip of my nose.

"Kick away, boyfriend. I dunno half of it, but if you think you must do it, just go ahead. And tell them to send a card when they've straightened everything out. Who knows, we could even invite them to dinner some day, heh ? Go on now, or you'll be late. And tell the guy next time he calls, he better say hello if he wants to get a chance to talk to you, and he should thank me for not being too bitchy or he wouldn't have gotten to you this time, okay ?"

0.0.0.0.0

I came out of the car and leaned on it. Two seconds later, Heero was out, carrying a light bag, and a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. I smiled a bit.

"Hop in", I said. "If we hurry, you could catch the next one and not wait for too long."

"I can't believe I'm doing this", he said after a while, his eyes fixing the road ahead.

"Me neither", I admitted.

"I … thank you."

I waved it away.

"Later. When you're back together, then you can thank me. And Duo."

He shot me a quizzical look.

"The guy you had on the phone", I explained. "He said that next time you call, if you don't say hello, you can get screwed before he'd let you talk to me."

He reddened a bit and looked down.

"Sorry about that."

"I don't mind. I understand despair", I said lightly. "He does too. He forgives you this once, but he wants to hear from you when all this mess is straightened out."

I never asked what the mess exactly was. I didn't need to know. I just needed it to be over, for both of their sakes. Why I should be the one to help them, I didn't know. It was just that way, and I wouldn't have changed it if I could.

I left him at the airport, refusing his money once again, even when he glowered at me, looking like he would force me to take the bank notes at gunpoint if I didn't accept them. I wasn't moved, so he just huffed and made his way into the terminal. He stopped just in front of the door and turned around, as if wanting to say something, but not knowing how. I just smiled and got back into my cab, driving away and feeling that I had finally done something right.

0.0.0.0.0

I don't really know what I expected after that. I didn't really think they would let me know how it went. After all, I was just the cab driver that had made the drive from airport to Oakland Lane for a bit more than six months. All I had shared was their silences, the things they didn't say. I would not have been offended if they had never contacted me again. Just knowing that they would be together again was enough.

I was at the station polishing my cab that Friday. I had taken the day off to do a bit of cleaning in it, and my boss surprised me when he suddenly came to me.

"Barton ! You're on request !"

"It's my day off", I said evenly, polishing the car.

"Dude, they insisted ! It's you and no one else ! I don't wanna lose no clients because the cabby they requested is on a day off, so move your butt and go get them ! Airport, international terminal in twenty minutes."

He went away. I sighed and threw the rag I was using on the floor. My car was only half shiny. It was quite a strange sight. But the client comes first, and if they didn't like it, well, as Duo said, they could stick it where the sun didn't shine. I drove out of the station, pleased with myself because I had found a colorful way to express in words what I felt, a fact that was rare enough to be noted.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I stopped at the terminal. They were both here. Hand in hand, leaning against each other. The blonde looked worn out, and his eyes were red and swollen, as if he had cried. Heero was caressing his hand and murmuring stuff in his hear. When they saw me, they both smiled, the blonde a bit tiredly. Without a word, they climbed in the cab and I drove them back to Oakland Lane. When we arrived, the blonde had fallen asleep, his head on Heero's shoulder. The brunette carried him inside, and I followed, carrying their luggage and putting it in the entrance hall as he went to deposit his burden, probably in the bedroom. He came back then, and paid me, and I didn't refuse the money this time.

"Thank you", he said again. "Could you please come back on Sunday around that time ?"

I must have looked surprised, because he smiled.

"I'm moving out", he said. "He will help me to pack, and we're off. Somewhere else."

I nodded once, and smiled back.

"I'm glad everything turned out okay for you two."

"If you hadn't been there …", he began, and I raised my hand to stop him.

"You would have found a way", I said. "But, I guess, I'm glad you called me for help. Take care of each other."

He nodded to me, and bowed formally, before shaking my hand, something he was apparently not really used to. I left after that, and again he stayed on the porch, watching me as I drove away.

When I came back on Sunday, the house was completely bare. No furniture remained, all they had with them were light bags. No words were exchanged, but their smiles spoke for them. It felt good just watching them. I dropped them at the airport yet again. And it was my turn to be surprised yet again. As I walked to them to give them their luggage, the blonde came to me and hugged me.

"Thank you", he said softly.

"It was nothing", I answered.

"No, it wasn't", he said, taking a step back. "I can never thank you enough for what you did."

"Well, maybe you could start with your name, then", I said a bit mischievously.

He smiled brightly.

"Quatre Winner."

"Trowa Barton. It's a pleasure to finally meet you", I said, shaking his hand.

"Quatre, we must get going or we're going to miss the plane", Heero said reasonably.

Quatre let go of my hand, but kept his eyes on me.

"We'll send you a card. I hope you can come visit", he said.

Heero just took his hand and began to tow him away, but he looked at me before going, and bowed his head. I did the same back. They couldn't know it, but what I had done was as much for me as for them. They deserved the happiness, and, just like the cute Chinese couple, they had helped restore my faith in mankind, and my love for human beings that sometimes seemed to evade me when I would listen to the radio or watch TV and see and hear all the atrocities humans can do to their own people. The world was just a bit less ugly because those two were happy. To them, maybe it didn't really matter. It meant quite a lot to me.

This night, when I came home to Duo, he was waiting for me. He got up from the couch and held me in his arms.

"They did it, didn't they ?", he asked softly, his breath tickling my ear as I inhaled the smell of his hair.

"Yes, they did it", I whispered.

"Then it's good."

I don't think I had ever heard anything truer. And that night I was just glad to stand here, with Duo in my arms, knowing two hearts were flying away together.

0.0.0.0.0

A week later, we received a letter. It was heavy. Inside were four pages covered in a neat writing, a picture of Heero and Quatre in front of a house that seemed to be situated on some kind of beach, and two plane tickets on the next flight for Los Angeles. Duo laughed as he read the letter, then, he caught my arm and dragged me to our bedroom.

"Come on lover, let's pack up ! We don't wanna make the lovebirds wait !"

He looked at the clock on the bedside table, then at the time printed on the tickets.

"Hell, that's short ! Never mind, let's hurry up and catch a cab !"

OWARI


End file.
